Unknown
by iamawhovian11
Summary: A one shot in which Sherlock is found pacing the living room and John attempts to comfort him. And succeeds. Rated T for stuff (no smut, sorry kids)


**Author's note: hey guys! This is my first fanfiction EVER so hopefully it won't be too bad...the prompt was from one of my twitter followers, /GAYLOCK221B so thank you very much my friend :) Well, I hope you all like it, reviews are much appreciated!**

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The first thing that should be known is that Sherlock never, _ever, _intended to have any sort of feelings for John Watson; he was never on the same page as Sherlock (which was the same for well, pretty much everybody), and he never seemed to understand why Sherlock did the things he did. However, while John had an utter lack of understanding, he seemed to have a quite prominent acceptance of Sherlock's strange habits and quirks. Also, he admired his work as a detective, even saying so aloud at times. A compliment was a rare sound to Sherlock Holmes' ear, and John's occasional expression of amazement seemed to feed Sherlock's ego in a way that made him grow subconsciously fond of the man. It was getting a bit unnerving, actually. Sherlock had never been particularly fond of _anyone. _

The second thing that should be known, is that John wasn't ever supposed to find out about any of Sherlock's…er…feelings. John was as straight as they get. He'd had plenty of girlfriends, and never once someone of the same gender. The thought made Sherlock's heart sink, so low that he could hardly tell if it was even there anymore.

John had essentially "found out" by accidentally hearing one of Sherlock and Mycroft's heated discussions. The argument had started out as a disagreement about Sherlock's job choice, and why he wasn't trying harder to earn more money. One thing led to another, and eventually insults were being thrown at one another and things were said that were not entirely meant.

Gradually the subject of Sherlock's love life was introduced, and Mycroft questioned incredulously as to why he hadn't even been _trying _to find someone, and if there was something diagnosable about his behavior. For once, Sherlock hadn't been thinking properly in his fit of rage, and he exclaimed that he was in love with John. This also happened to be right about when John left the lobby to see if everything was all right in Mycroft's office.

John heard enough to know the truth, and he was so surprised that he made a strange noise in his throat, which caught the attention of the Holmes brothers. Embarrassed, John had fled the building and rode a taxi back to Baker Street. Both John and Sherlock stayed in their own separate rooms that night, ignoring the slight hunger from having not eaten dinner.

A loud crash sounded in the apartment, startling John awake. Living with Sherlock, he had become accustomed to these sorts of things, however he knew that this was not like most times. John slipped into his bathrobe and quietly opened his bedroom door. He made his way to the living room, and as he neared the sound of footsteps was becoming louder and louder. As a matter of fact, when he reached the room the sight before him was a very distraught and desperate looking Sherlock, pacing the floor with swift, brisk movements, his head down and his hands clasped behind his back.

John cleared his throat, and Sherlock stopped pacing abruptly, facing away from him. Turning slowly on one heel, Sherlock's eyes caught with John's, and they seemed cold and hard and bored just as usual, John observed. But as he looked closer, he could tell there was a small hint of sadness and almost…desperation.

After what seemed like ages, Sherlock made the first move, sitting down in his chair, legs crossed, and eyes closed. John carefully made his way to the chair opposite him.

"Sherlock. _Sherlock._"

He looked up. "Hmm?"

"Would you like to explain to me what is happening, or are you just going to sulk for the rest of your life?" It had come out harsher than he had meant, but he it's what he felt and could not take it back.

When Sherlock opened his eyes they were full of exasperation and hurt, but then softened when he saw that John looked concerned.

"Nothing. Absolutely…nothing. Go back to bed, John, it's late."

"Sherlock, I'm not a child."

"Well you sure are acting like one, aren't you?"

"I'm not the one who won't own up to his feelings and deal with the consequences, whatever they may be!" Sherlock was quiet, taken aback by his flat mate's outburst.

"Sherlock…" John said as he took the seat opposite Sherlock, and in response Sherlock waved his hand as an accepting of the apology.

"You're right, John", Sherlock said, closing his eyes once more. "I should just be honest with you, and get this whole thing off of my chest." He takes a deep breath, holding it in his mouth, then lets it suddenly. "I do…I do have feelings for you. I understand that you do not feel the same and, well, I will have to learn to accept that." He holds up a hand as John starts to interrupt.

"I do not want this to be an awkward subject, however I never wish to speak of this

again, and that is my only desire. I hope you will find it in you to promise me that."

Sherlock opens his eyes to find that John is standing over him with the slightest grin on his face. It was not teasing or judging or smirking. It was like he was relieved, happy even. John sits on his heels so that his chest is pressing against Sherlock's knees, and it occurs to Sherlock that this small interaction is most likely the most intimate he has ever gotten with anyone. His heart jumps in his chest as he tries to figure John's thoughts, but he cannot. John slides his hands up Sherlock's thighs, all the way to his hips, and Sherlock shivers slightly, much to John's amusement. His hands were then along Sherlock's sides, his chest, his shoulders, his neck. They stopped there, and by then John was nearly sitting on Sherlock's lap.

"But…but I thought…?" Sherlock said, his voice cracking slightly. John only shrugged and then shook his head, laughing silently.

"Sherlock, I…" Their faces were only inches apart, and they could feel each other's breath blowing across their lips and cheeks. Sherlock then pressed his mouth hard against John's, nearly knocking him backwards before catching him, his hand steadying him by his lower back. The two men's tongues swirled around the other, massaging, pressing, rubbing. Their hands did much of the same thing; it was as if they needed to feel every part of each other's body, all at once.

John began to undo Sherlock's shirt buttons, kissing the space of skin that was left bare after every button was undone. Sherlock arched his body into John's, clearly aching for the clothing between them to be gone. John laughed into Sherlock's mouth, and Sherlock absolutely despised how powerless he was in this situation. Thinking this, he felt it was his turn to take the upper hand. Sherlock led John into his bedroom, a place he had never even seen before. John decided that he would take the time to properly look at the bedroom in the morning.

Giggling like schoolgirls, Sherlock and John climbed into the sheets, and well, we all pretty much know what happens from there.


End file.
